Perfect Scents

by Virginia Taylor

  “Stay right there,” Kell said, turning the engine back on and activating the screen wipers. “I’ll back up and drive you to your door.”

  “No need. This is too heavy to last. It’ll be gone in a trice.”

  By that, he assumed…what? That he hadn’t read her body language correctly. That she hadn’t succumbed to his fatal charm? That she had simply wanted to be polite today, and that she was disappointed that Trent had hooked up with Emily?

  “I’ll make a run for it inside,” Trent said with a want to talk expression on his face. “I’m going to change and drive back to Emily’s place. Likely, I’ll see you later tonight.”

  Kell didn’t want to talk. He wanted to grab Calli into his arms and kiss the heck out of her before he took her to bed—hers, he hoped. The need he had for her made him edgy. Trent opened the car door, pulled up the collar of his shirt, and dashed toward the back of the house, chased by a second deluge, which stopped as suddenly as it had started.

  Calli opened the car door. Fresh wet air blew in. “As I tried to say, thanks for today. And thank Trent for me, too, though I must say I don’t think he is much of a date. He mainly left me to you. I’m thinking now, he might have used me as a decoy.” She didn’t sound annoyed.

  “You’re not racing off like this. We kind of had a date, and I will return you home safe and sound.”

  “I live next door, for pity’s sake.”

  He leaned across her and pulled her door shut. “I’m driving you,” he said, determined, and he swiveled to stare through the rain-bleary back window as he did a Formula 1 speedy reverse of his car down the drive. The wheels swooshed in the mud.

  A quick flip of his forward gear, and he was out into the street and turning down the judge’s drive. He pulled up in the carport between the Jaguar and Calli’s 1990s green Ford. Certain she would open her door before he could, he leaped out of the car to grab her before she raced off, but she waited, and he got to do the first gentlemanly act in his life—help a woman down out of his car and escort her to her front door.

  His shoulders squared to prepare him for his ultimate disappointment. He walked beside her while she scrabbled for her keys in her big bag with almost frantic haste.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and drew a deep breath. “I don’t normally have this effect on women. Some don’t even mind talking to me.”

  “I need to be on my own.”

  “I need to be with you,” he said in the mildest voice he could manage.

  She lifted her gaze, and when his eyes met hers, he saw a kind of hopelessness that made him reach out and pull her against him, his hands resting lightly on her back. She buried her face into his shoulder. Her heart pounded against him. She didn’t push him away. Her fingers curled into the sides of his sweater, tightening the fabric. He put his hand on the back of her head, stroking. “I would like to think this is passion for me, but maybe you just want to be held. Did you think you were Trent’s date? If so…”

  “Of course I didn’t.” Her voice was muffled into his collar. “I know he wanted Emily. I was meant to distract you, that’s all.”

  “You did a fair job.” He slid his hands down onto her hips, his lower body indicative of her success.

  “I can feel how distracted you are, you know. And that particular distraction is distracting me.”

  “This one?” He moved his hips slightly, not easing his erection in the slightest.

  Her head moved in assent.

  “Look at me.”

  She lifted her face. His gaze held hers for a long moment, trying to read her thoughts. He saw no rejection, and he lowered his lips to hers. She tasted like wine and salted nuts, and she smelled like fresh rain. Her hips moved, tantalizing him, and then she hooked her arms around his neck and lifted so that she edged his penis between her legs. He groaned, his hands clutching her buttocks to hold her there, to move her against him. His skin heated, and his intake of air grew forced. He dragged his mouth from hers. “Your key. Let’s get this door open.”

  She pulled in a breath and nodded, her eyes large and bright, her lips soft and red, and again began scrabbling through her bag. He couldn’t wait. He wanted to break down the door and get her onto her back. Finally, she pulled out the key and pushed it into the lock. She swung the door open and shoved inside, him right behind. He snatched her bag and threw it at the couch. Then he grabbed her up again, running his mouth across the soft skin of her neck, while with desperate haste, he sped open her zipper. He jerked her undies down while she fought to open his pants.

  “Back pocket. Condom,” he said in a gruff and urgent voice, taking her mouth with his, his need frantic.

  She snatched his wallet before he did, so he opened his own pants. She toed off her shoes and presented him with the unwrapped condom. He slammed shut the door with his foot. He had to have her right then. While he stretched on the condom, he moved her back against the door. With one of her buttocks in each hand, he lifted her onto his hips. She wriggled, and his penis found her hot moistness. She slid her arms to his shoulders and clung, and attached her mouth to his with avid greed. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, at the same time moving his fingers along the hot wet temptation of her vulva, sliding, sliding, until the catch of her vagina.

  “I’m ready. I’ve been ready since lunch.” And with that she urged the tip of his penis into place.

  If he had shoved in, he would have come instantly. He stayed as still as he could, hot with need, but cold with purpose. This wasn’t a woman he would use. This was the woman he would love, again and again. He took her mouth, experiencing the taste of her, the smell of her skin, her hair, and the begging of her body. He stayed, leaving her to inch him inside her. He groaned with pleasure.

  Even when she had accommodated his full length, he remained breathing heavily, retaining iron control even though her bare heels pushed into his buttocks, urging him on. Unintelligible sounds of throaty need whispered against his neck. She finally made slow sideways rocking movements of her hips, leaning the back of her head against the door, gasping for breath. “Please, please.”

  He had wanted her to beg him. He needed her to want him as much as he wanted her, but he was so close to climax himself that almost any movement would end him without giving her the ultimate pleasure. Trying to keep his mind elsewhere, he pulled back and plunged, desperate not to let his desires control him. Whispering soft words of love, he slid his hand down between them and found her hard little clitoris, which he treated to a gentle nudge and a circling tease. And she bucked, making those woman-noises into his neck. Never had a woman come for him so quickly.

  Her inner tightening almost took him out, too, but he stayed in place until her clenching stopped, until her soft noises of pleasure turned into relaxed breathing. He began to move then, and his climax arrived faster than he hoped. Nevertheless, he didn’t berate himself when he knew his woman had been pleasured first—his woman. He stayed heavy inside her, expecting to subside while her body relaxed.

  She stared at him, her smile a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. With a tender expression on her face, she lifted her hands to cup the sides of his face, showing every sign of being about to unhook her legs from his waist. Before she could, he grabbed the end of the condom and slid out of her.

  “There’s no gracious way to do this,” he said, his voice regretful as he peeled off the limp latex. “Unfortunately.”

  She laughed, pushing her hair back from the warm sheen on her face. “Put me down, and you’ll be able to pull your pants up and walk to the kitchen trash.”

  He did both and washed his hands while he was there. His body still thudded, though, with sated lust and a slight apprehension. She seemed too dismissive, too casual about an act that had a strange significance to him.

  “I like food after sex,” he said gruffly, hoping to stay a while longer.

  “I like food all the time,” she said, stepping back into her undies and pants.
She did this in a particularly elegant way. Everything she did was elegant, and fascinated him—from the way she kissed, to the way she touched his face, to the way she orgasmed. “The least I can do after that lovely lunch is make you a bacon-and-egg sandwich for dinner.” Her querying expression completely disarmed him.

  Normally, this would be an awkward moment. The woman would let him know she wanted the same again, or she would be slightly embarrassed she had wanted him in the first place, or she would automatically assume…anything at all. Calli simply accepted that what happened had happened, and life would go on as before. “Or I could go out and buy fish and chips for us. Do you want fish and chips?”

  She stretched languorously. “If you need to get back to the house, I’ll understand. I’m sure you don’t want Trent to know about your sex life any more than I want him to know about mine.”

  He rubbed his fingers over his stubble. “He’s my work buddy, not my guardian.” Perhaps he should have said he wouldn’t be making love to her again, but that would be a lie because he would, and as soon as he could. “And why would I care when you know bloody well we haven’t finished with each other yet?”

  Her eyes rounded. “We haven’t?”

  “So, if you think you can easily get rid of me, I’ll have a bacon-and-egg sandwich. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while yet.”

  “I need to freshen up, first. I’ve had a big day, and I plan to watch TV after I have eaten.” Flicking her fingers through her crisp hair, she headed for her bedroom.

  And if that’s what she wanted to do, he wanted to do that with her, though he could put together a more satisfying plan in an instant. She disappeared into her bathroom. He glanced at the couch, prepared to wait, and the cat unfurled herself. She blinked at Kell, made a graceful leap to the floor and did a Beyoncé walk to the front door, all swaying tail. There she sat, waiting for a minion.

  “Is the cat allowed out?” he called.

  A voice from the depths echoed back. “Leave the door open so she can come back in.”

  Instead, he stood in the doorway staring at the dusk and the wet black rooftops over the road. The rain had left a sheen on the landscape, the freshness of new beginnings. He didn’t know what he had expected to do after making love to Calli, but somehow he felt compelled to find out. After a few minutes, the cat came back, and he shut the door behind her. When he settled onto the couch, the cat insinuated herself onto his lap and began purring like a buzz saw. He automatically scratched behind her ears and under her chin. Within minutes, Calli wandered back, too, her hair perfect and her lips glossy, Jogger Girl again—a fit specimen of expensive womanhood.

  She put her hands on her hips, looking outraged. For a moment he wondered what he had done. “Why does that cat ooze around you? I feed her, and she barely notices me. I bet she doesn’t even know my name.”

  He grinned, bent over the cat, and put her mouth near his ear. “Whisper the name of your woman.” The car purred. “Calli, she said, but she doesn’t know your surname.”

  “We’ve never been formally introduced. She wandered in here the other day and that was that.”

  “I’ll introduce you if you tell me.”

  She swallowed. “Calli Opey.”

  “That’s a mouthful. I don’t know if she will be able to pronounce the whole lot. Did you hear that, Cat?” The cat nodded with a little help from Kell’s hand. “She says it’s okay if you keep feeding her, too.”

  “Humph.” Calli stalked over to the kitchen with mock affront. “Do you like rhubarb sponge? I picked some stalks from the judge’s garden this morning so I could make a dessert, too.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tasted rhubarb, but if it comes with a sponge, I’m bound to like it.”

  “Never had rhubarb? Where on earth were you brought up? Every good Aussie kid has had rhubarb.”

  “My dad didn’t ever cook. He bought takeaways. My mother died soon after my younger brother Luke was born, and I have no memories of her.”

  “Not a one?”

  He shook his head. “Not a one. Fish and chips was my staple diet unless a neighbor turned up with a casserole or something. No one turned up with rhubarb.”

  “I’ll get the rhubarb cooking, in that case, and heat the oven. This is one of the few things I can make without a recipe. It was a standard dessert at our house.”

  He wanted to go over and be with her, but not prepared to look gormless, instead he turned on the TV and watched the news. Nothing of note had happened, being Saturday, and the cat decided to sit on his shoulder instead. “Hey, there,” he said to the fur close to his face.

  Calli laughed from the kitchen. “She just can’t get close enough. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow I’ll be back at work on the house.”

  “What’s your real job?” Her gaze connected with his.

  Although he would have liked her to think he had a high enough income to flip houses as a recreational sport, he couldn’t manage a lie. “I run a small cabinet-making business, and I have another kitchen to finish this week. Doing the house is my extracurricular activity.”

  “Who owns the house?”

  “The bank owns the house. I have a small interest in it.”

  “You? You own the house? So, you can make the decisions as to the renovations?” She sounded interested.

  “And I can’t fit in a butler’s pantry,” he said, staring at her back.

  “Have you taken some advice on this?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “My own.”

  She began whipping up something in a bowl. “This is an exclusive area. The people who buy here have enough money to send their kids to private schools. You have a four-bedroom house there. You certainly need room for at least four bathrooms.”

  “Two bathrooms.”

  “With two bathrooms and no informal entertaining space, you’ll be selling to the lower end of the market.”

  “The house is meant to demonstrate my fit-out skills. After that, anything I get for the place will be profit.”

  “Any buyer would build on. You will be providing a bargain for someone else.”

  He shook his head. “Why would anyone keep a house that’s probably a hundred years old and ugly as well?”

  She grabbed a steaming pot off the stove and poured cooked strings of pink rhubarb into a casserole dish. “For that very reason. People with plenty of money want to mix with other people with money. The older the money, the higher the status. An old house with a history is very appealing to people with new money. You need to know your market.”

  First, he frowned at her. He didn’t need a lecture. Then, he moistened his lips. “So, what are you saying?”

  “Don’t leave someone else to make the profit you ought to be making with the house.” Turning away from him, she scraped the batter she had whipped into a creamy blob onto the top of the casserole.

  “So, add another two bathrooms?”

  “One. Build an extension, and you’ll have room for a downstairs powder room, a half bathroom.” She placed the dish into the hot oven. “You’ll want to extend a large entertaining area out from the kitchen to overlook your beautiful garden.”

  “You’re angling for the garden job.” He drew down his eyebrows.

  She looked across at him and the ends of her mouth turned up. “I wouldn’t mind the job, but that’s not my prime concern. I think you need to squeeze out every cent you can from the house. The old lady who lived there—”

  “How do you know an old lady lived there?” He switched off the TV.

  “Guess work. Whoever lived there didn’t do renovations or any sort of rebuilding, therefore he or she didn’t have a good income. I’m guessing he or she inherited the family home and remained there until old age while living on a pension.”

  “I bought it as a deceased estate, and you’re right. The old lady was in her late nineties when she died. She had no close relatives.
”

  “People these days like large kitchens and separate laundry rooms. You have a large kitchen and you’ll need to build a new laundry room.”

  He put the cat on the couch and wandered over to the island that separated the kitchen from the dining space. “I’m going to leave the laundry room where it is,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not extending back.”

  “If you build a new laundry room and reconstitute the butler’s pantry, that would be a magnificent selling point.” She glanced at him. “And the downstairs bathroom could easily convert to a nice powder room. That’s a great way to impress guests. You have it all in that house, and you have the old reclaimed bricks to build it.”

  “That would add weeks to the renovation time.”

  She found a frying pan, one of those thick expensive ones, and she placed it on top of the stove before pulling a plastic pack of bacon out of the fridge. “The rashers are frozen together. See what you can do about separating out a few slices.” She put the pack on the island in front of him and went back to the fridge to take out a carton of eggs. “An extension would possibly add another quarter to your selling price. I’d say your quick clean up of the house would get you close to a million. In this area, you would get over a million, perhaps 1.5 for a four-bedroom house with a modern extension.”

  “You sound as if you know that.” A lump of four bacon slices came apart from the block and she took them, replacing the plastic pack in the freezer. Interesting way to keep bacon.

  “I do. I used to work for a property development company. I designed the gardens for all the new builds and all the renovations. You learn a lot when you’re around the big business end of town. Now, where did he put that toaster?” She found the thing in a cupboard under the island, and she plugged it onto a socket she found there, too. “These islands are handy.”

  “Everyone wants them these days.”

  “You certainly know your market for kitchens.”

  “Are you going to put frozen bacon into that pan?”

  “The ice will steam off before they cook. Fresh bacon is a lot nicer, but when you’re a single person, you can’t eat too much before it goes off. I suppose you’ve found that, too.”